


Finding Peace

by Shatterpath



Series: Tales of Earthdawn [2]
Category: Earthdawn
Genre: F/F, Role-Playing Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xanava has settled into her new life in Barsaive, but some wounds never heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Peace

**Author's Note:**

> There was more that needed telling from Xan, Kamryn and their companions. Plus, I wanted to explore Xan more and that meant her point of view. So, here we go!

#  _Beletsallah_

Translated from the elven as ‘passionate silence’

By Shatterpath

 

Darkness blocked out the thin autumn sun and turned my blood to ice. What was that thing bearing down upon us? Tattered wings spread doom across the sky. A serpentine beast curled its neck to glower all the shades of hell at us.

I could not move from the choking fear that held me immobile.

Screams echoed in my blind paralysis.

Something struck me like a falling mountain and pain ripped along my skin, my bones, and the places where air and blood flowed through me. Claws tore at me and pinned me to the uncaring earth.

And through it all was the darkness and the screaming.

 

# # #

 

Gentle hands on my arm woke me. Thankfully, I knew the touch and did not react with violence.

“The waking never seems to grow any easier.”

It was a beautiful dawn that framed Lenarra’s concerned face. Sorrow lingered in her golden eyes as heavily as in my own.

“I know.”

Then she was off to help the others break camp while I calmed myself. It had taken us five years to become a proper adventuring group of heroes. And in one morning the beast that bore the taint of a Horror had torn us apart. Rel and his talented, thieving fingers were left little more than a charred husk. And Reina…

Poor sweet Reina had only wanted to see the world and share her Discipline with others. One fell blow of that massive paw had shattered her body as though she had fallen from a cliff. None had told new tales of us since. We could not bear another to take her place. As long as I live I will never forget the look of terror in her wide eyes, frozen in death.

A bowl of porridge under my nose roused me from my painful musings.

“Eat. We’ll be ready to move on soon.”

I nodded to Kryra and the quiet Swordmaster moved to the horses. It had been the Kitten who had taught me to care, but it was these Name-Givers who were my day-to-day reality. Only they had made the loss of companions bearable. Even if none could fill that empty place in my heart.

By dusk we had finally reached Throal. The Gates towered hundreds of feet above Bartertown. Despite all we had suffered this past year we were happy to the see the massive entrance to the mountain kingdom. Familiar and welcome was the sprawling metropolis that exploded from the gates like a floodplain. Torches and bonfires lit a sea of revelers within Bartertown.

“Tonight is the second day of the Great Harvest,” J’cen spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness. The brown man folded his hands across the saddle pommel and watched the festivities. “It is time to go home. Come.”

Lenarra followed his brown gelding and Kryra trailed after. That left only Dajel who could be sidling up beside Agreth and I. Our eyes met briefly before I returned my gaze to Bartertown.

“I have a very strange feeling about this visit. A strange feeling indeed.”

“This will be our first time among those that truly know us since…”

Dajel’s rich voice trailed away and her blue eyes grew unfocused. Neither of needed to finish the thought. Then I felt her eyes ask me a silent question and I reached into the small pouch at my belt. Seven years ago, Lenarra and Dajel had spent nearly two months creating the magic item for me. It was no more than a slightly ornate face mask of black cloth and metallic needlework.

Until it was tied over my scarred face. There was a moment of blurry disorientation and I knew my distinctive Theran features had been changed just slightly to something more… acceptable.

Now I looked like a swarthy Barsavian human. It was easier this way, even if it did periodically irritate me.

The outskirts of Bartertown were fairly quiet, but as we grew closer to the Royal Road the noise and light began to grow in intensity. Out of subconscious habit we took our usual defensive marching order: myself, Dajel, Lenarra and the two Swordmasters bringing up the rear. Suddenly I rounded a corner and reined Agreth in so the others could flank us.

“Great Passions…” Lenarra breathed and the rest of us could only nod in agreement. Not since my days on the Isle of Thera had I seen so many Name-Givers crowded together. It was quite a sight. With a bit of coaxing, the horses waded into the seething mass of people and noise. We were jostled and tugged at by the revelers. A grinning troll lifted up a pretty human girl just nearing womanhood so that she could drape a garland of flowers and wheat stalks around my neck.

“Grand Harvest to you hero,” she told me shyly and I could not stop my smile. Others decorated my companions in similar fashion. Revelers even looped bright cloth and flowers into the horse’s tack and the loose edges of armor and weaponry. It took impossibly long to finally reach an inn, which unsurprisingly was full. Two more turned us away as we moved farther and farther from the party. At last we came to a moderately disreputable looking place nearly a mile down Burlap Lane.

“’The Rough Skin.’ Charming place you’ve brought us to, Wolf.”

"Have you a better better idea, jester?"

After the day we had just experienced, I was in no mood for J’cen’s teasing. The shifty-eyed guard at the door said there were rooms. That was all that concerned me.

“Thank the Passions we can bathe and sleep in at least moderately civilized surroundings. Besides, we’ve slept in far worse.”

Most of the others muttered in agreement to Kryra’s comment, even I. Lenarra, J’cen and I cared for the horses while Kryra and Dajel went inside to charm the owner. They were very practiced at the act and soon returned with two keys.

“Well, the food smells simple, but good and there are bunk beds in the rooms.”

“Sounds wonderful,” I said sincerely and did my best to quickly finish tending to our faithful mounts.

“I’m going to see if I can find a runner to take a message to the Inner Kingdom,” Dajel suddenly announced and vanished into the night. Lenarra and I shared a long-suffering look before returning to our tasks. Soon the Swordmasters had disappeared into the inn for a bath and Lenarra went to acquire dinner. That left me with the assorted gear that the animals carried. It would not be easy to haul the assorted sacks and saddlebags, but I had done so before and would do so again. We were all experienced enough travelers that anything of real value was kept on our persons at all times. At last I finished rubbing down the horses and left them to eat and sleep for the night. Within the common room were merely a handful of the customary thieves and cutthroats that inhabited places such as this. I merely spared them a withering glance before dragging the gear upstairs to the room that matched the key in my hand. Just as Kryra had said there was a bunk bed and two footlockers across from a fair-sized fireplace and small table. There was a supply of wood and a washbasin and pitcher.

“This will do nicely.”

My sleeping space would be above whichever couple was not feeling amorous this night. As hard as we had been riding, it was likely to be neither. Wearily I sank to the bed and buried my face in my gloved hands. They smelled of dirt and metal, sweat and horse, blood and oil. Unbidden my mind drifted back to those long days when the Kitten had nursed me back to heath. If I concentrated I could still feel the hollow place in my side where the two ribs were missing. The scar on my face twitched and ached in gleeful counterpoint to the remembered suffering.

“Damned Horror,” I whispered and pulled the mask away to soothe the restless scar. That twitchy pain pounded in harmony to my memories of Kitten. That quiet pride, the oddly metallic eyes that haunted me so, the gentle smile and that sharp mind. Someone approaching the door made me tense reflexively. Both hands remained cupped around my undisguised face and I glowered through my fingers.

“Wolf? Could you get the door? It’s just me and dinner.”

Before Lenarra had finished speaking, I was across the room and was letting her in. Two large sacks and a pot weighed her down until I grabbed them. Good food smells drifted from the collection.

“This smells wonderful.”

“Bring them here and we’ll get the best choices before the others return.”

Humor glinted in her amber eyes as she dug into the relinquished sacks to reveal spiced meats, fresh bread, wine, ale and best of all, fresh fruit. My stomach growled and I sprang to the washbasin to the sounds of Lenarra’s musical laughter. With clean face and hands I attacked the cauldron of vegetable stew and the rest with an enthusiasm that made Lenarra laugh all the harder. All to soon the Swordmasters returned to find me growling melodramatically around a hunk of bread and Lenarra doubled over in laughter. My sense of humor was rare and they stood back to admire the effect. Sheepishly, I stopped playing and gestured to the disheveled food.

“Sorry,” I muttered and they came over to clap my arm and shoulder before helping themselves.

“No need to apologize Wolf. We like to see that playful side ever so often.”

When I made no reply, Kryra spoke up. “I’ll take armor duty tonight, but I think the task will require two. J’cen, if you give me a hand or two that will leave clothes and inventory to our companions.”

J’cen nodded agreement and I reached for the ties to my hard leather armor to find grimy laces. We were indeed filthy.

“That bath sounds very appealing about this time.”

They chuckled and Lenarra shucked off her long tunic of cloth-fine faerie chainmail. As usual, the suit was immaculate from the magics inherent to it. There were few clean articles of clothing within our gear, but we found what we could and I tied the mask back on before heading downstairs. A chair beneath the door handle gave me a sense of security and I could relax into the hot water.

“Ah, this is nice,” I purred and made no objection when Lenarra began to soap down my raven hair. Gentle hands caressed my scalp where the scar ran up under my hair and it stopped its constant ache with an irritated twitch.

“Bless you Lenarra, for being the only person who can calm this beast on my face.”

She chuckled and handed me the mask to scrub off. Some time passed while we soaked and washed our soiled clothing in convenient buckets. When someone knocked I snapped out of my half doze and sent water cascading from the tub.

“Watch it,” Lenarra griped fondly and called out, ”who is it?”

“Just your friendly neighbor tailor,” Dajel’s merry voice called out. “Now let me in you lazy fish!”

“You’ve bathed and changed! You look wonderful.”

Indeed, the taller elf was quite stunning. The robe was a magnificent pattern echoing the five elements: Air, Earth, Fire, Water and Wood. If one knew what to look for you could see them dancing in the colors and shapes.

“Thank you,” Dajel preened and gestured imperiously at the two of us. “Now up both of you and let me see if my silvers were well spent. Passions forbid my practiced eye for clothing the whole lot of us, except Kryra of course, has suddenly deserted me.”

“It never has before,” I chuckled and climbed from the tub. As I dried the water from my skin I found my hand lingering over the old scar on my side. Once again its counterpart began to dance painfully.

“What is it?”

For long moments I could not answer the question and nearly flinched when Lenarra took my arm. Memories washed over as poignant as the moment of their creation. After fighting down the hot tears, I took my hand from the vicious sneer on my side to cover her fingers.

“Just remembering. It seems to be doing that even more than usual recently.”

Both of them nodded but the concern did not leave their eyes of blue and gold.

“There are many t’skrang from House V’strimon here. Perhaps they remind you.”

The squeeze to the long muscles of my arm reminded me I was not alone. I nodded around the lump in my throat and reached for the bundle of clothing Dajel offered me. It was a black shirt and trousers traced at the seams in blue and silver thread not unlike the cloak I had so painstakingly tied to my own True Pattern. Soft undergarments of a neutral color and a quilted black undertunic for my armor completed the package.

“Thank you Dajel, these are wonderful. Ah Lenarra, you may very well be the center of attention in that!”

Warm gold and white tones brought out the smaller woman’s wheat colored hair and amber eyes. Subtle patterns of dancing ropes and flying carpets spoke of her Discipline from throat to feet. She graced me with a curtsy and I bowed in return.

“For such a pretty human, you look terribly handsome in that,” Lenarra chuckled and took my arm to be escorted back to our rooms. As we walked, I eyed the patterns on the upper sleeves of the new shirt, as that was the only place where it would show beneath my armor. There was gold thread in there as well and I recognized Agreth prancing among silver swords and hawk hatchets. My grin was automatic and sincere.

“You had these made for us, didn’t you?”

For a moment Dajel feigned innocence before giving in with a smile and a chuckle. “Indeed, last time we were in Bartertown. My favorite tailor has been keeping them all this time.”

“Indeed,” I mimicked her fondly.

That night we five spent cleaning our suits of armor and our traveling bags. Then we slept the sleep of the exhausted and woke later in the morning than we had in many months. My stirring roused the elves and my pounding fist on the wall woke the Swordmasters. Strange how sleeping too long made a body feel as weak and unfocused as sleeping too little. Fuzzy-headed and irritable, I used the head and then went to the common room to find food.

“Excuse me traveler, but are you the Black Wolf?”

Such a look was leveled at the bartender that he shied away as though afraid for his life. Instantly I tempered my glare and calmed the magics within me.

“Yes. Who wishes to know?”

With a shaking hand, the barkeep drew a rolled parchment from beneath the bar and set it on top. Pressed into its wax seal was the royal crest of Prince Neden. As I walked away with the message, I only just remembered to pause and thank the man I had scared so badly. It was not until I stood at the threshold of the room did I realize that, not only had I forgotten breakfast; I had forgotten the mask as well. The poor man had taken the brunt of my intimidating Talents, but he had also seen my scarred Theran visage.

“Damn,” I growled to myself before entering the room where my companions awaited me.

“The barkeep had that waiting for me, and I gave him quite a scare for his troubles. Damn my poor memory this morn.”

Kryra and J’cen slipped into the room and they patted me comfortingly before seating themselves.

“What shall we do this lovely day?”

Dajel fluttered the paper at him in response before reading out loud.

“Greetings Heroes and welcome back to Throal. Tonight is the second day of the Grand Harvest and an engagement has been planned to celebrate. The citizens of the land would be grateful to see you after such a long absence. The celebration will begin at the seventeenth hour within the Royal Auditorium. It definitely has Neden’s signature and is addressed to the five of us.”

There were long moments of silence before Kryra said quietly, “so he knows.”

“One would assume,” Dajel responded just as quietly. As we had for the past year, we keenly felt the loss of Reina and Rel. In the silence I went to my gear and pulled out the rough sack we rarely looked in since that fateful day. My strong fingers trembled as I freed the old knots and upturned the contents upon the wooden floor. A few distinctive articles of clothing, Rel’s beloved Quiet Fingers gloves and lockpicking tools, Reina’s broken staff among two great claws and three teeth nearly the size of my arm. It was those that had been stained with crimson Name-Giver blood. Wounded, bloody and half-blind, I had torn those from the body of the tainted dragon and kept them. That hushed quiet hovered over us as I knelt to run a finger over a razor sharp edge of the scarred trophies. Then I saw what I had truly been looking for: Reina’s scrollcase. Within that sky blue cylinder of wood and horn and hard, oiled leather lay our tales and our histories. Tears filled my eyes as I raised it to the bright fall sun streaming through the window. For a moment I swore I could hear the girl’s sweet laughter and Rel’s deep chuckle. In my mind’s eye I could see them, alive and vibrant and free.

“Your legacy and ours my young friend. None will forget these tales. It’s time they were told again.”

We five came together and wept our loss onto the remnants of our beloved companion’s lives.

A bit of the morning was spent skimming through the various scrolls penned in Reina’s painstakingly tiny hand. Both sets of clothing were given to the barkeep for his grown son in the kitchen and the adolescent girl working in the common room. I spent some time whittling the sharp edges from the broken staff in preparation of turning the fine wood into something useful. Both the gloves and lockpick tools were respectfully taken by J’cen to be cleaned and stored away. At some point we would find an honorable young thief just coming into the craft and we would make a gift of the items. Or better yet, the up and comer would steal them! To a soul we laughed and cried over our shared memories and prepared for our meeting with Prince Neden.

All to soon it was time to begin our journey to the Inner Kingdom. Our gear was hauled back down to the rested horses and our bill was settled. Without a Troubadour it had been difficult to feel like Heroes. Then we saw the girl who had received Reina’s fine clothes beaming at us from the door of the Rough Skin. That expression reminded us of exactly why we risked ourselves: for others to live on. As one we drew our swords and saluted the girl before riding into Barsaive’s autumn afternoon.

Soon we were forced to ride single-file through the crowds streaming to and from the Grand Bazaar o f Throal. Thankfully we were above most of the chaos while on horseback. As the crowd had done when we arrived here, we were once again adorned in garlands, flowers and bright cloth. The attention was both exhilarating and wearing on battle-hardened nerves. Soon I had Lenarra’s mount firmly in hand as she grinned sheepishly at me. All of us were well aware that she hated to ride and was a poor horsewoman. It did not help that J’cen and the elves found it necessary to entertain the throng around us until we could barely move from the pressing bodies. Illusionary visions danced across the blue sky and bright patterns of the elements wove among them while J’cen kept up a merry banter. At last they caught my slowly growing look of impatience and wrapped up their show. Even on this festival day the Bazaar was busy as we wove our way through the sea of colors sounds and smells. I kept my eyes firmly on the inner gate to the Hall of Jothan. At last I caught sight of the Royal Guard questioning the people entering the huge archway. The dour looking fellow we finally met up with looked as though he could not decide whether he was pleased to see us or not.

“Your business, Adepts?”

Immediately I handed over Prince Neden’s invitation and calmly introduced my company and myself.

“I am the Black Wolf, follower of the Path of Peace. My companions: J’cen the Gallant Swordmaster, Lenarra the follower of Truth, Dajel of the five Elements and Kryra the Blademaster. May we pass?”

There was a bit of surprise on the dwarf’s face and he grinned at us.

“Grand Harvest to ye travelers. You may pass. And you had best hurry if you’re to be at the Grand Auditorium by the seventeenth hour!”

The invitation was handed back and I clucked the horses into motion. “Thank you neighbor. Passage should be faster in the Halls than in the Bazaar!”

We had nearly ten miles to cover in only… what time was it anyway? There was a vast waterclock set above the archway we had just passed through.

“Fates and fire, it’s nearly the fourteenth hour! Come Heroes! Move your tails and watch the walkers!”

Most folk are wise enough to give a cantering warhorse the right of way. Those that did not were merely dodged or glared at when she was forced to stop suddenly. I would give the offender a dangerously sweet smile and apologize for my big gold brute while she breathed on them. Sometimes I think Agreth was enjoying the little game. We cantered, walked and even galloped when we could. From the occasional hour candles set in business windows and at intersections, we could keep track of the passing time. And it was rapidly running out. After passing through the second intersection I pressed Agreth into a full gallop that Lenarra’s poor beast was hard pressed to keep up with. Nearly a third of the trip to go and less than an hour to get there. Slowly but steadily the shops and homes along the Hall of Jothan increased, as we grew ever closer to the heart of Throal.

At last we reached the Grand Auditorium and its corresponding crowds. There were shouts of annoyance as we barreled into the stables to quickly stall up the horses.

“>Sorry girl,<” I whispered to my Agreth in our native Theran. “>This is twice now I have not tended you myself. And soon I will make it up to you. Take care.<”

Speaking to my horse in Theran had earned me a few odd looks over the years, but I felt it necessary for her to hear the language she had been originally trained to. It gave me an excuse to use the tongue as well.

“Wolf! There’s the Guard’s entrance.”

Ah, Kryra’s sharp eyes had once again done the trick.

“Excellent. Now we need not deal with the crowds. Lead on.”

J’cen and Lenarra effectively placated startled members of the Royal Guard as we made our way to the Auditorium. Sounds of the festivities grew louder the farther we progressed. Within sight of the entrance Kryra yanked me to a halt.

“Not so fast Warrior. We have to make some kind of an entrance, even if it doesn’t sit well with your Discipline. We need to look our best. Now hold still.”

“Typical Swordmaster,” I chuckled but willingly allowed her to fuss over my clothes and wild black hair. The others did the same before we strode into the vast auditorium.

With a flair for dramatics I thought long forgotten, I spied an empty place in the milling crowd and promptly commandeered it. The spellcasters appeared to flank me and the Swordmasters took up the outside. Cloaks swept back, postures straight, heads held high; we made quite a sight. A ripple ran through the assembly to the Royal Dais halfway across the chamber. Immediately, the four members of the royal family took note of us.

“Happy now?”

My dry comment set us in motion towards our liege and his family. Prince Neden in particular looked delighted to see us, even if he was trying to hide it for the sake of decorum. During my first year in Barsaive I had rarely left the Inner Kingdom and had grown to be friends with the man. It did not take us long to reach the Dais where I bowed to the royal family.

“King Varulus, Lady Dollas, Lady Veroxa, Prince Neden; Grand Harvest to you.”

My well-trained politeness earned faint smiles from liege and wife, and wide ones from the prince and his grandmother. Neden stepped forward to greet the others before standing face to face with me. With my hand in his warm grip he looked deep into my eyes.

“There have been few stories of you of late.” His gaze softened further with compassion. “What happened?”

For many days I had been preparing myself for his question and still I winced from the pain. For a long moment I pressed down on his strong grip and fought down both hot tears and the choking lump in my throat.

“There was a dragon,” I rasped in a voice I barely recognized as my own. “It was utterly Horror-corrupt. We stopped it, but the cost…”

Both hands cradled mine, the grip almost painfully in intensity. After a long moment Neden left me to speak quietly with each of my companions. Wise old Veroxa tottered over to tap my knee imperiously with her elaborate walking stick. It had been she who had first welcomed me to Throal with just this gesture and I would forever have a soft spot for the elder woman. Again I knelt and allowed her to touch my disguised face.

“Still no chance to say goodbye, eh? Poor, poor Wolf. Even got yourself a nasty scowl to match your name.”

In response to the soft words, the cursed scar began to jump and twitch until my illusion-masked face danced in sympathy. After a moment I had to clamp my gloved hands over my cheeks and hiss in pain.

“Be patient,” Veroxa said kindly and patted my knuckles with wizened fingers. “There’s something in the air tonight… “

Strangely, her last words signaled the abrupt end to the scar’s torment for the time being. With a mad cackle she shooed the whole lot of us off to eat from the feast laid out for the celebration. As we perused the banquet tables, Veroxa’s words echoed in my mind: ‘still no chance to say goodbye… still no chance to say goodbye… still no chance to say goodbye…’ That sunny day a year ago had turned so unexpectedly violent that I had been indeed left with no chance to say goodbye. There was more to her words than my cherished traveling companions. Those metal-blue eyes swam into my mind’s eye and I flinched. At first glance she had instantly intrigued me. As I had hovered between life and death with only her to save me, I had learned to love her. For her I had walked from everything I had ever known: family, prestige, and power. With little hesitation I had followed her into the unknown. Because of my unspoken love I had let her go, but I had steadfastly refused to say goodbye. For five years I had done my best to avoid the Serpent River and the one captain not born of the t’skrang. All this I had done and still I ached for her day and night. Somberly I wandered back to the Royal Dais with little interest in the food I had collected.

Others entered from time to time and periodically the crowd would ripple in response. Each time my Warrior instincts would sharpen and a glance towards the main door would quiet them. Until there came an entrance that none could ignore. Brightly dressed t’skrang were filing into the auditorium to fall into two neat lines. Dread, fear and a desperate hope rooted me to the foot of the Royal Dais.

“Excellent,” King Varulus rumbled with warm affection. “She has arrived.”

The columns of t’skrang came to military attention. Many of them wore the familiar bracelet of green reeds on their right wrists. My breath roared in my ears as time slowed to a crawl.

She was a grand old dame of a t’skrang, just as the Kitten had said. For this was the Shivalahala V’strimon who commanded the assembly so effortlessly. Then the old woman shifted and my heart seemed to slam to a halt within my chest. By fire, sea and storm, this was the true face of the one who held my heart. How beautiful she was to me, how calm and commanding and strong. That glorious auburn hair cascaded down the odd scaled armor I remembered. Only now the scales rippled in harmony with some inner life. My hungry eyes traced the half-hidden points of her delicate ears, the high arch of cheekbones, the expressive mouth. It took a timeless moment for her to notice my stare. Our gazes met and my heart exploded to life. This was my life, my love, my heart. Reality crashed down as the milling crowd separated our gazes.

I remembered nothing of moving, of handing my food and drink to someone, of slipping through the crowd like a shadow. Only when I was nose-to-nose with the Shivalahala and staring into her kind eyes did I realize where I was. With a negligent flick of her clawed hand she waved the startled guards off. Then that same hand reached up to lightly trace my face.

“So you are the Wolf.”

That hand somehow grasped the disguising mask and firmly pulled it away. For a moment I blinked in shock and she acknowledged that with a wise nod.

“You need both strength and honesty, Wolf. How did I know? Your heart is in your eyes.”

Despite what who was standing right behind her, the Shivalahala had my complete attention. Years of agony and loneliness swept across like a wave. They drove me to my knees and I clasped her fingers to my scarred cheek. Those wise, ancient eyes burned into mine for a powerful moment and bolstered my flagging emotional reserves.

“We are all bound together.”

A loving grin curled her long mouth and warmed my battered soul.

“And some of us are bound more closely than others.”

With that she stepped aside with a dramatic flourish. Blue eyes like forged steel stared at me and in that moment I truly understood what captivity had cost my Kitten. Not only her freedom, her magic, her pride, but nearly her very spirit that burned like fire from within. Yet here she stood, unbroken, and even stronger than before. Only then did I understand and all I could do was reach desperate, empty hands and beg with all the aching love and loneliness within me.

“Please… please my heart… forgive me.”

Merely a whisper, a soft rush of air past my lips… but she heard me. Those eyes changed then and I witnessed the death of my fragile soul. For without her forgiveness I could not survive this seeing her again. Like a drowning woman my hands faltered and the world shattered around me.

Then she stepped between my hands and cupped my face in her own. Her gentle smile and loving eyes warmed me, healed me, and claimed me.

“Yes,” she whispered to me my salvation. “I forgive you.” 


End file.
